My Demons
by WhitR
Summary: Tag to 10x09. We all have our demons, but who do we turn to when those demons take over? Dean knows he can't fight the Mark of Cain alone anymore, and Sam is determined to make him see he won't have to face it alone.
1. Chapter 1

**My inspiration for this story comes from the song My Demons by Starset. The words in italics at the start of this chapter are actually lines from the song. This was also inspired by me wanting to see more of the immediate reaction to the events of the mid-season finale, which apparently the writers just wanted to skip over for some reason.**

**Many thanks to my awesome beta/proofreader Amanda (aka Dancing_Adrift on Twitter) for editing this and giving suggestions. I did edit it slightly after making the changes she suggested, so any mistakes in this are mine. **

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><p><em>Mayday! Mayday! The ship is slowly sinking. <em>

_They think I'm crazy, but they don't know the feeling. _

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><p>"Tell me it was you or them!"<p>

I feel Sam's hands on either side of my face as he practically begs me to lie to him. My little brother is begging me to make him believe I didn't just murder _humans _senselessly. Sam knows the truth though. The Mark of Cain took over, and I couldn't stop it. We've both been trying to ignore the fact the Mark was still there, still threatening to turn me back into the demon who would have bashed his own brother's skull in with a hammer a few weeks ago if it hadn't been for some timely angelic intervention from Cas.

Sam asks me again to lie to him, to tell him those humans didn't have to die by my hand. I want to say the dead men lying around me deserved their deaths, especially the one who had wanted Claire to rob a convenience store just so he could have the money to pay off some loan sharks. And even the son of a bitch who had gone upstairs after Claire. I don't want to think about what would have happened to the girl if we hadn't come back here.

But I can't think about anything right now other than the sound of my brother begging me again to tell him I had no choice but to kill those men.

"I didn't mean to," I finally manage to speak. And I really didn't mean to kill them. I tried to warn them that they were making a mistake by attacking me.

Sam's hands fall away from my face. I still won't look up, and I can't think of anything else to say. Really, what else can I say in this situation? The evidence is all around us. Sam doesn't need me to actually tell him the truth. I look down to the knife I'm still holding. My focus zeroes in on the blood on my hands.

Human blood. These men weren't even monsters. Well, maybe not monsters in the sense of the ones I swore I'd hunt down whenever I had a chance. Still, no matter what they did, I shouldn't have killed them. I should have been stronger than the Mark. I can still feel it burning, urging me to cause more blood to spill.

I thought I could control things and find a way out of my own mess without dragging Sam down with me. Yet here he is, witnessing the downfall of the brother he should have let go when he had the chance.

"Dean," Sam's voice is barely a whisper, the complete opposite of the frantic voice he used a minute ago when he ran back into the house to find me kneeling here on the floor, surrounded by dead men and covered in their blood. "We need to get out of here."

I don't move. I'm not sure I can. All I can focus on are the lifeless bodies in the room. The blood. And Claire's scream I can still hear echoing in my mind. It's bad enough that I lost control with Sam and Cas both nearby, but for that poor girl to have also witnessed what I did?

Add Claire's name to the list of people whose lives will never be the same after meeting me. I'm sure what she witnessed will haunt her forever.

Sam's voice suddenly sounds like it's further away. I don't know what he's saying, but I'm sure he's no longer talking to me. Maybe he's telling Cas to come back in here and smite me so all of this will be over. I couldn't blame him if he ever asked for that to happen. And Cas? I already told him to put an end to me if I went "Dark Side" again. Although, at the time, I was referring to me becoming a demon again.

I never expected to lose control and kill human beings while actually still a human myself. Or maybe I really am no longer a human. Might as well admit the truth. I'm a monster now.

Sam is suddenly kneeling in front of me again, but I'm too far gone looking at the mess I made to know what he's saying. The walls feel like they're closing in. A weight settles on my chest that makes it difficult for me to breathe, let alone try to reply to whatever Sam is saying. I feel him gently take the knife from my hand before he grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet.

I stumble forward a couple steps before I realize I need to be a little more cooperative. Leaning heavily on Sam, I allow him to almost drag me to the Impala. I'm not surprised when I don't see Cas or Claire anywhere in sight. Sam guides me to the passenger side of the Impala. I want to comment on the fact that I still have blood on me, and throw in something about messing up the seats in the car, but my voice seems to have gone.

I stop him as he opens the door. The Mark is still burning beneath my skin. I can't take any chances...

"Dean?" He studies me, trying to figure out why I'm in no hurry to get into the car.

I hold my hands out, palms up with my wrists touching. Sam looks down at my hands then looks me in the eyes.

"No, I'm not putting the cuffs on you," He says defiantly, perfect impression of that typical younger brother attitude he had as a teenager. The attitude he never really grew out of even all these years later.

Just do it, Sammy. I don't want to be responsible for you getting hurt because I can't control what's happening to me.

Of course, I don't say that out loud. I don't have to. Sam and I have lived with each other long enough to know what the other is thinking. Under other circumstances, I imagine he would give me a trademark bitch face for making him do something he really doesn't want to do. Slowly, he pulls the cuffs from his jacket pocket. Really, I shouldn't be surprised to know he is carrying them where he has such quick access to them. Still, I'm surprised he does it without more of a fuss.

Unlike the last time he had to do this, his movements are slow as he fastens the cuffs. His hands are shaking, and I can't remember a time when I have seen him this upset. I almost laugh at how he struggles to do this while I'm compliant when he did all of this with one arm in a sling the last time he used the cuffs on me.

He helps me into the car because I still can't seem to get my brain to send the right signals to the rest of my body to properly move. Once the door shuts and he gets into the driver's seat, Sam looks at me like he wants to say something, but he just sits there for a minute before finally starting the car.

"Cas took Claire back to the group home," He informs me just as the Impala's engine roars to life. I get what he means though. Claire was traumatized by what she witnessed. Her scream echoes through my mind again. She must have been begging Cas to get her away from that house, away from me. I can't blame Cas for zapping her away.

Sam should have done the same thing. He should have left me there to deal with everything on my own. Sometimes I don't understand my little brother. He made it clear he didn't want to be my brother months ago, and then I died by Metatron's hand. I guess that changed everything. Or maybe he just wanted to hurt me because of everything that happened after I tricked him into letting Gadreel possess him.

He refused to let me go when I was a demon and stuck with me, trying to save me, after I nearly smashed his brains in. Sam has seen my inner demon, but he's still here. I've spent my life protecting him, and I have given him so many reasons to hate me. So many reasons to walk away from me and never look back.

He comes back every time I need saving. I've always tried to be brave and do what a big brother is supposed to do. Big brothers aren't supposed to need their little brothers to protect and save them. But I know this time I can't do this alone. I need Sam's help, even if I won't admit it out loud.

If there's anything in this world I don't deserve, it's having Sam for a brother. He was right all those months ago after he found out about Gadreel. I was desperate. I couldn't let him die, even though I knew that's one reason he had taken on the Trials. He'd found a way out of this life permanently, and I couldn't let him have it.

He was right to call me selfish. Sam has proven multiple times that he could live a life without me. He took off to Flagstaff and survived two weeks on his own when he was a teenager. He left for Stanford and had a good life there until I showed up. He met Amelia while I was in Purgatory, and had a life with her too. Of course, that life he had with her didn't end because of me.

Still, the point remains that he has always been able to survive on his own. Me? I could barely survive without Sam. I rarely went on hunts by myself without Dad while Sam was at Stanford. The few I went on turned out to be the easiest hunts Dad could find or I would find an excuse to have Dad, or sometimes Bobby, come help me.

I know it's an unhealthy attachment to Sam, but when he is the only constant I've ever really had in my life, I find it difficult to function without him.

I did that once, after Sam went to Hell. If it hadn't been for Lisa Braeden, I probably would have been dead by the time he was freed from Lucifer's grasp. She was a saint for putting up with the things I put her and her son Ben through. All the nightmares and the sleepless nights she spent just holding me until I could fall asleep again, only to have the cycle to repeat itself the next night. I'm still surprised she didn't throw me out permanently the day I pulled a knife on Ben. I didn't know the kid had gotten out of school early, and he thought it would be funny to sneak up behind me in the kitchen. So when he tackled me, I knocked the kid to the ground and had a knife against his throat before I even realized it was him. Lisa, of course, let me have it that day when Ben told her what happened. I spent that night alone in a hotel room. She called the next morning after Ben had convinced her he wasn't hurt and that he should have known better than to try and sneak up on me like that.

I still think about them. The woman who gave me a chance for a normal life. The kid who might not have been mine but could have been.

I miss the days when things were simpler. Back when we were just kids and Sam had no idea about the things that lurked in the dark. I miss the days my baby brother looked at me like I could do anything and solve any problem either of us was facing. Truth is, I'm not the hero Sam always thought I was. I've always just been a soldier.

No. That's not right either now that I think about it. I've always been a pawn in a screwed up chess game that will eventually end with me dying before I ever know peace in my life.

At least I still have Sammy though. Having him around is the closest thing to peace I'll ever have in this world.

"Dean," Sam's voice breaks my thoughts. "Are... Uh, you okay?"

To anyone else, the question would seem pretty straightforward. Coming from Sam, it means something different. He probably knows I'll give him the usual answer to that question. And as usual, he will let it slide even though he knows that I'm lying through my teeth.

I still don't look at him. I can't bring myself to see the fear in his eyes that reflects in his voice. My little brother is afraid, and for the second time in our lives, he's afraid _of_ me. Probably afraid I'm sitting here silently plotting how to kill him with another tool I could crush his skull with.

"Actually, I know you're not," He cuts me off before I can even say a word. "We'll find a way to fix this. There has to be something out there that can help us figure all of this out. You _will_ be okay though."

I expect him to say more, but he doesn't. Instead, he just turns on the radio. As classic rock music fills the car, I can't help but wonder why I'm the one who's falling apart when Sam is the one who has been through a whole hell of a lot more than I have.

The miles blur by as Sam shows no signs of stopping. He'll drive until we're back at the bunker, where he'll ensure that I'll be okay for the time being before he spends hours in front of his laptop scouring the Web or turning the pages of a book looking for any clues he might have missed on how to save me from the Mark.

And ever so faintly, just barely audible over the sound of Highway To Hell blaring from the speakers, I hear Sam speak again.

"I'll save you this time." His voice cracks slightly. I finally look at him. He has a death grip on the steering wheel and a look on his face that tells me he means what he said with everything he has. "I've always let you down when you've needed someone the most. I won't do it this time. I'm going to save you, big brother."

You've never let me down, Sammy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews, Casismyfavorite & wandalrogers! & thanks to everyone who favorited this story! Well, here's part 2, told from Sam's POV. This will be the final chapter since I felt that a 3rd chapter wasn't needed, given how this chapter ends. **

**Shout out to my awesome beta Amanda for taking the time to proofread, edit, & suggest changes I implemented into this chapter. Any remaining mistakes are my own. **

**Disclaimer - yeah, I don't own the boys, the Impala, or anything recognizable to the show. The 2 lines of lyrics below this also aren't mine. Those belong to Starset. (if you haven't heard the song My Demons by Starset, look it up when you get a chance. It definitely fits Dean.) **

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><p><em>We are one in the same<em>

_Oh you take all of the pain away, away, away_

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><p>"I didn't mean to."<p>

Until now, I never knew four words could actually make the world feel like it had stopped spinning. My brother has said a lot of things to me during our lifetimes, but that short confession almost sends me into a full-blown panic. I wanted him to lie to me, tell me this didn't have to happen. That he didn't have to kill these men.

I've seen Dean take on this many men after a bad night of hustling pool and walk away with nothing more than a few bruises. These guys did have weapons though, but Dean still won the fight with the knife in his hand.

And it's the Mark of Cain that ensured he won this fight, spilling as much blood as possible.

Dean hasn't moved since I ran back in here to find him kneeling in the middle of floor. He won't even look me in the eyes, even after I lower my hands from his face. My brother is scared, and that is more than enough to make me want to panic all over again. We need to get out of here before the cops show up. I don't care if they find clues that point to us. I just need to get Dean away from here.

"Dean," I fight to keep my voice low and calm. "We need to get out of here."

He doesn't even try to move. Just remains kneeling in the floor, looking completely lost.

"Sam," Cas calls out from the front door which is still open.

I turn to see him standing just outside the door. Dean still shows no sign of moving so I quickly hurry to where Cas is standing.

"You need to get him away from here, Sam," He warns, looking past me to Dean. "And I'm taking Claire back to the group home."

Oh, that's right. A teenage girl witnessed the carnage inside the house. The echo of her scream runs through my mind. My brother has always loved kids, even if he wouldn't outright admit it, and tonight, he has managed to terrify a young girl who saw the ugly side of human nature. Well, maybe what happened inside wasn't completely human nature, but for all Claire knows, my brother is just an ordinary human who murdered the man she saw as a father figure—albeit a horrible example of one—and some loan sharks who had burst in with the intention of getting the money they were owed.

I look past Cas to see Claire standing behind the Impala, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. I can see her shaking from here as she looks up for a second to look toward me and Cas.

"She's terrified, Sam," Cas looks me in the eyes. "She begged me to take her away from here, so that's what I'm doing. You get Dean out of there and get him to the bunker as fast as you can."

"You don't think—"

"Get him away from here, Sam," Cas interrupts me. "Just get him back to the bunker where you can make sure he—"

"Do you expect me to take him back and just lock him up in the dungeon again?" I ask heatedly. "I can't do that to him, Cas! Not again!"

"Just take him home, Sam.," He sighs heavily and looks over his shoulder at Claire then back to me. "Once I make sure Claire is okay, I'll meet up with you two. Keep an eye on your brother, and if something happens… If you need help—"

"I'll call you if things go south on the way to the bunker," I assure him. "And you make sure Claire is going to be all right."

Cas nods before turning and going over to Claire. I go back inside and stop dead in my tracks just a couple steps in. The color has drained from Dean's face, which unfortunately makes the blood on his skin stand out even more. I hurry to him and drop to my knees in front of him again, ignoring the fact that I have blood on me too from kneeling in it before. Dean's breathing comes in short, ragged gasps that worry me. His gaze is on the knife in his hand.

"Dean, hey, listen to me," I try to get him to focus on my voice and come back from the edge of what could be one hell of a panic attack. Or worse. "I know you're scared, man. Hell, so am I, but I need you to calm down, okay?"

I don't think he even understands what I'm saying, but he seems to at least hear me talking over the panic that is clearly showing. His grip loosens on the knife, and I manage to gently pry it from his hand. I don't even bother trying to pick it up and take it with us. He'll probably want to kick my ass later for leaving it behind, but right now, all that matters is getting away from here.

As gently as possible, I pull him up until he's standing. The fact he hasn't said anything else disturbs me. My brother has always been talkative, and when he suddenly goes silent it means things are worse than he wants to admit. Dean has always had a habit of silently retreating into himself when things become too much. The last time it happened was when we lost Bobby. He went so long without speaking when Bobby died that I was afraid he had suddenly become mute.

Dean finally seems to understand I need him to move and half stumbles along as I guide him outside to the Impala. I see him look inside the car as we get closer, no doubt looking to see if Cas and Claire were waiting. I know he's in no shape to drive so I get him to the passenger side and open the door.

I'm expecting some smartass remark about getting the seats of the car dirty due to his blood-spattered clothes. He doesn't speak. Instead, he looks at the car before turning to face me.

"Dean?" I look at him, trying to figure out why he won't get in the car already. Doesn't he understand we kind of need to hurry now?

Then he holds out his hands, wrists touching and palms up in a universal sign of someone waiting to be handcuffed. My heart sinks.

"No, I'm not putting the cuffs on you," I tell him.

I know what he's thinking. He's afraid he might lose it in the car and hurt me. I don't want to have to use the cuffs on him again. Having to do it last time was painful enough, but having Dean actually wanting me to do it is even worse.

This isn't because I can't trust him. It's because he doesn't trust himself.

I pull the handcuffs from my jacket pocket and slip them over his wrists. My hands are shaking so bad I can hardly fasten the cuffs. It's ridiculous that I'm struggling with this when the last time I used these cuffs, Dean definitely wasn't remotely compliant and I had one arm in a sling.

Even after I fasten the cuffs, Dean continues to stand there, looking off in the distance but not really focusing on anything. I coax him into getting into the car and shut the door. Once I get into the driver's seat, I take a second to regain the composure I'm about to lose. I want to tell Dean something that might make him feel better, but what can I say?

We both have blood on us. Obviously Dean has more on him than I do. He still has some on his hands and his face, too. So, right now, there isn't a lot I can say that is going to come close to finding the silver lining in all of this.

I can't tell him everything will be okay, because things have never been okay in our lives. We've both been played by angels and demons since the day I was born, which reminds me…

When Dean had let his inner demon take over, he told me outright that his life had been ruined simply because I had been born. After all I've put him through, I can see why he would think that. And maybe he's right. Maybe things would have been better if Dad had just let me die along with Mom that night all those years ago.

Maybe then Dean would have grown up having a Dad who would've been there for him instead of spending his childhood—his entire life—taking care of his younger brother.

So, I don't tell him everything will be okay. He would know I'm lying anyway.

"Cas took Claire back to the group home," I tell him as I start the car. At least now he won't be worried that I'm leaving without them.

Once we're on the road, getting the hell away from that house, I risk a quick glance at Dean. The brief glow from a streetlight reveals the tears my brother is struggling to keep at bay. He looks down at his hands and takes a deep breath.

I can almost hear his thoughts, and for a second I begin to wonder if those demonic powers I thought I was done with years ago were coming back in a new form. That's not the case though. I've always been able to read Dean. He and I can speak to each other without ever saying a word. We used to freak Dad out with how well we could do that.

Dean wants to know why I didn't just run away and leave him there. He wants to know why I'm still here even after he became a demon and wanted to kill me. I know I told him all those months ago that we weren't brothers anymore, but watching him die when Metatron stabbed him made me realize I never meant a word of that.

We all say things in the heat of the moment when we want to get back at someone for hurting us.

He'll never admit it, but Dean is still hurt by the things I said after finding out about how he tricked me into letting Gadreel possess me. I know Dean only wanted to save me, but I had been willing to die. I'm just as tired of this life as he is, but he'll be damned before I die and leave him behind.

He already sold his soul to a demon once to bring me back to life, and I don't doubt he would do it all over again. And that's why my heart breaks for Dean. His entire life has been about protecting me and keeping me safe. He can't seem to function on his own without me. My brother has never felt worthy of anything other than making sure I'm safe, and when he fails at doing that, he piles more guilt and hatred onto himself.

"Dean," I start hesitantly. "Are… Uh, you okay?"

A quick glance before looking back at the road, and I can see Dean still seems afraid to speak or even look in my direction. Even if he does speak, he'll give me the same answer he always does.

"Actually, I know you're not," I decide to not give him a chance to lie to me now. I don't want him to lie to me like I did back in that house. "We'll find a way to fix this. There has to be something out there than can help us figure all of this out. You will be okay though."

Dean isn't going to speak any time soon, so I turn on the radio to fill the silence in the car. I've never been a big fan of the classic rock music Dean has always loved, but for the moment, I'm willing to leave the radio on.

If anything, it makes me remember the times when Dean would turn the radio on, blasting classic rock, as we barreled out of a town after a successful hunt.

It makes my heart physically hurt to think about everything we've been through over the last ten years. We've lost everyone we've ever cared enough about to consider family. Dean has taken every single one of those deaths harder than I have. He'll never admit to the nights he stumbled back to whatever hotel room we were in for the night so drunk that his walls came down, and I was left trying to keep my shattered brother from completely losing it. Of course, we both would get up the next morning and act as though it never happened.

Dean doesn't like admitting he's had moments of weakness, but I don't consider him weak at all. My brother is the strongest person I know.

He has spent his entire life trying to make the right decisions to keep me safe. My brother will sacrifice his own happiness if it means he can do something to make sure those he cares about the most are happy and safe.

But even that's never been enough. Dad beat it into him—both figuratively and sometimes literally—his entire life that Dean's job was to protect me and also save complete strangers from things that I wish we knew nothing about.

Just what has that gotten Dean though? How could Dad ever put that kind of responsibility on my brother? Dean was just four years old when Mom died, and from that night on, he had to give up being a kid to follow Dad's orders to protect me. I only wish I had realized sooner that Dean wasn't the superhero I thought he was.

No. He's not Batman, even if that has been a joke between us for years. He's the unfortunate victim in a life that seems determined to never give him peace. My brother has given so much in his life and very little has been given to him in return.

He is way more than a superhero, and I don't deserve to have him as a big brother.

It's not until I actually start feeling my hands cramping that I realize my grip on the steering wheel has tightened to the point where it might actually shatter if that was possible. My brother deserves to have someone stepping up to save him, and I'm going to do it this time. I couldn't save him when he sold his soul. I couldn't save him when Metatron stabbed him. I probably could've stopped him from ever taking on the Mark of Cain if I had actually tried to make him realize I do care what happens to him.

It's time for me to finally prove to Dean that, no matter what I said, he means more to me than anyone ever has. He's all the family I have left, and he's the only person who has stuck with me all these years. I've had a habit of wanting to run away from the life, from Dean, but it's taken me until recently to realize just how much he depends on me being around.

"I'll save you this time," I don't know if he can hear me over the music, and I honestly don't care. "I've always let you down when you've needed someone the most. I won't do it this time. I'm going to save you, big brother."

It's not until I say it that I realize it has been a long time since I called Dean 'big brother'. I wait for him to try to argue with me, tell me I've never let him down. He doesn't. And that hurts. A few minutes pass. His silence is just the confirmation I needed to tell me he does believe I've let him down before.

"Sam…"

His voice is so quiet I almost don't hear it over the music. I turn the volume down just in time to hear him say my name again.

"Sam," Dean is almost pleading. "Oh, God."

I look over to see the color drain from Dean's face. I react without thinking and jerk the car over onto the shoulder of the road and slam on the brakes. The second the car stops, Dean fumbles with the door handle and finally manages to get it open with his handcuffed hands. I've just killed the engine when Dean stumbles out a few feet away from the car and doubles over, bracing his hands on his knees as he begins to throw up what appears to be everything he has eaten in the last twenty-four hours. I rush over to him and put a hand on his back to let him know I'm there. A few tears slip down his cheeks and fall to the ground. I swallow heavily, and wait for him to calm down.

When he turns to face me, he's struggling to regain his composure. He looks down at his hands. I suddenly kick myself for not realizing I never bothered letting him try to wipe the blood off of them. The sight of the blood has him turning away and vomiting again.

After a couple more minutes, it seems that his stomach contents are done making an appearance on the ground. Dean stays doubled over, eyes closed and struggling to get his breathing back under control. I can't let this go on any longer.

He opens his eyes when he hears the jingle of the handcuff key I pull from my pocket. The look he gives me makes me realize he doesn't want me to take them off. He's still afraid he'll snap again and hurt me.

"Man, you don't need those on," I slip the key and handcuffs back into my jacket pocket. "I'm not worried about you hurting me. I trust you, Dean."

He still looks like he's going to hurl again. I run back to the car to grab the bottle of water I threw into the back seat earlier. I hurry back over to him and hand it over.

He rinses his mouth and recaps the bottle before handing it back to me. He's still too pale for my liking, and I can see him actually shaking.

"C'mon, Dean," I guide him back over to the car. He sits on the passenger seat, but sits sideways so his legs are still outside the car.

"Those men…" Dean struggles a second to speak. "Sammy, don't you see?"

"See what?"

"I'm a monster!" He yells loud enough that I'm sure anyone in a passing car could've heard. "You should have left me behind! You should have told Cas to kill me right there! I don't deserve to—"

"If you even finish that thought, I'll kick your ass," I warn him harshly then soften my tone. "Dean, you're not a monster. What happened back there wasn't you. It was the Mark."

"I tried to tell them not to attack me, and they… They didn't listen! I couldn't control myself, Sammy. And when it took over completely after I died, I would've done the same thing to you! I almost did!"

He holds his hands up and looks at them again. That blood needs to come off. Now.

"Your blood would have been on my hands too if Cas hadn't shown up when he did!"

His breathing is once again reaching a gasping level that has me worried. I open the back door and grab an old shirt lying in the back floorboard before turning back to Dean, the water bottle still in my hand suddenly more useful than I intended.

"Dean, listen to me," I get him to look at me as I grab his wrists and slightly pull his hands away from the seat and his lap. "You are not a monster. You're my brother. Nothing will ever change that."

He looks at me like he doesn't believe me. I stay quiet a few moments as I uncap the bottle to pour the water onto his hands, using the old shirt to wipe away as much of the blood as I can. The old Dean would've been giving me hell by now, making sarcastic comments about chick flick moments and holding hands.

But the old Dean disappeared long ago.

Still, I'm unnerved that he lets me finish cleaning his hands without once cracking a joke. There's blood all over his clothes still, but that will have to wait until we're back at the bunker. His face is still splattered too, so once I'm satisfied his hands are as clean as I can get them, I try to hand him the shirt. He stares at me blankly, so I motion to his still-ashen face.

"You want me to wipe your face for you too?" I ask, half joking, half serious. It's enough to snap him out of his shock for a moment, and he jerks the shirt out of my hands to scrub it over his face. I feel a small smile on my lips at the hint of color that my slight teasing brought back to his cheeks.

Dean finishes cleaning his face and throws the wasted shirt into the back seat. I make a mental note to get rid of it as soon as we're back at the bunker. Dean then turns until he's fully back inside the car again, and I shut the door and return to the driver's seat. I wait a moment to start the car.

"Thanks, Sammy," Dean looks at me when he speaks.

It's only two words, but they mean so much more.

_Thanks, Sammy, for not abandoning me back there._

_Thanks, Sammy, for not giving up on me._

_Thanks, Sammy. For everything._

"You never have to thank me for being your little brother, Dean," I manage to smile at him. "It's my job to look out for my older brother, and that's what I'm doing. You've spent enough time looking out for me. It's time I finally do the same. "

Dean frowns. "I shouldn't need saving, and you sure as hell don't need to be dragged down with me!"

"You don't get it, do you?" I huff out a frustrated breath, my patience tested by the return of his pig-headedness.

"Get what?" He asks growls, ready to argue with whatever I say.

"You don't have to do all of this alone. You don't need to carry all this weight on your shoulders," I try to reason with him. "For once in your life, let me help. I've watched you spend your entire life getting me out of messes so why is it when you really need help you won't ask for it?"

"Because I got myself into this mess!" He yells loud enough to make me flinch. "I do nothing but make bad decisions. I tricked you into letting Gadreel possess you, and I know you still hate me for that. Then Gadreel used you to kill Kevin, and I… I just...and now with the Mark...God, Sam, how can you even stand being near me?"

I have to take a moment to let it sink in that, for a moment, Dean actually let out how he is truly feeling. It's rare that he willingly lets his walls fall like this without me really prompting him. Yes, I hated him for what happened with Gadreel and then Kevin's death. I hated him for not letting me go when I had the chance to escape this life for good. And I hated how quick he had been to accept the Mark, without even considering the consequences.

But in the end, I realize I can't truly hate my brother. Not when I finally understand just how afraid he truly was of ending up alone.

"Because you're my brother," I answer simply. "Yes, Dean, I'm still hurt about what happened with Gadreel. It's going to take me some time really get over it, but I never should have tried to shut you out like I did. We're all the family we have left, and I walked away from you. You didn't deserve that."

"I deserve to be dead, Sam," He says darkly. "You should have killed me in the dungeon when you had the chance, or you should have at least let Cas put an end to it all."

"No, Dean. That's not how I ever want to see your life end," I can't keep my voice from breaking. Then I remember something he said not long ago. "Just after you were a demon, you pretty much told Cole there was no hope for you, that you couldn't be saved. Do you still believe that?"

He looks down at the floorboard. And there's the answer. Dean doesn't believe he can be saved. He knows as well as I do that every bit of lore that is kept within the Men of Letters library has been looked over at least twice already. I haven't found a single clue about how to save him from the Mark of Cain yet.

"You're going to be saved, Dean," I keep my voice steady this time. "I'll find a way to save you. When we get back to the bunker, I'm going to go over all those books again just to make sure I haven't missed anything."

"You've already spent weeks reading every book in there and everything on the internet you could find," Dean sounds defeated, which makes me even more determined to do something. "There's nothing there! You should've let me go when you had the chance, Sam. Why couldn't you just forget about me and go on with your life like you did when I was in Purgatory?"

Okay, that one hurts. A lot.

"You think I forgot about you while you were in Purgatory? I'd never forget my own brother," I can't believe he's even bringing this up now. "You told me to move on, to not look for you if something ever happened, so that's what I did."

"I told you the same thing this time around, and you didn't listen," He sighs. "So, what was the difference this time?"

"I thought you were possessed by a demon," I admit. "Then Cas told me you weren't possessed. That the demon controlling you was just your own demon, not one from Hell that needed a new meat suit. I couldn't let you go on like that if there was a chance I could save you. I had to try, and I don't regret it for a second."

I wait on him to argue even more, but he seems to be thinking about what I said. Maybe now he'll realize that I didn't let him go this time because I had the chance to save him. Back when he went to Purgatory, I had no idea where he went or if he was alive somewhere else. He had told me to let him go, and I did because I thought—hoped—that maybe he had finally left this life behind in the only way that seems possible for either of us.

"Okay, Samantha," Dean cracks the faintest of smiles, and I smile at his use of the girly nickname. "I'm done sharing feelings and being all emo. Can we just go home?"

"Sure," I keep smiling as I start the car and pull onto the road again. "And Dean?"

"What?"

"I wasn't the one who started that chick flick moment, _Deanna_."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean laughs.

"Jerk," I laugh, too.


End file.
